З життя
Повертаюся з роботи: двері замкнені зсередини.
Виходжу з роботи й повертаюсь додому. Двері зачинені зсередини.
Стукаю. Відчиняє мені жінка. В моєму фартуху і з моєю кухарною ложкою в руках. Я була в шоці. Більше того, вона запросила мене в дім і повідомила, що мій чоловік скоро прийде і все пояснить.
У квартирі — безлад. Повсюди валізи та торби з одягом. Розібрані меблі вздовж стін. Діти граються з іграшками нашої дитини.
Йду на кухню, питаю, хто вона така і що вони тут роблять. Вона знову про чоловіка каже, що він сам усе пояснить.
Що я мала подумати? Вона не родичка — усіх його родичів я знаю. Не колишня дружина — у нас у обох перший шлюб. Подруга? Знайома? Сказала б, не стала б нагнітати інтригу. Коханка? Звісно ж! Привів її в наш дім, зараз прийде і скаже збирати речі. Логічно? Логічно.
Схопила я жінку і потягла до виходу. Вона кричить, діти плачуть. Витягла в коридор і сказала збиратися. Дала 10 хвилин, щоб їхнього духу в квартирі не було. Вона вперлася. Сказала, що я пожалію і мій чоловік мені цього не пробачить. Ну точно — коханка. Останні сумніви розвіялися.
Вона відмовилася йти. У нас квартира оформлена на мене, хоч і купували в шлюбі. Чоловік — співвласник, але про це ніде не написано. Викликала поліцію. Сказала, що в мою квартиру проникли і крадуть.
Я не збрехала — у неї все ще була моя кухарна ложка в руках. І звідки я знала, навіщо їй це? Може, вона саме за цим і прийшла?
Поліція приїхала разом із чоловіком. Він почав заспокоювати їх. Розповів, що дав ключ від квартири своєї родички, а мене не попередив. Мені погрожували штрафом за хибний виклик.
Щойно поліцейські пішли, ця дама почала жалітися моєму чоловікові на мою нестриманість. Казала, що мене лікувати треба.
— Хто це і що вона тут робить? — ледве стримувалась, щоб не кричати.
— Це — Фаїна. І у неї зараз складний період. Поки що вона поживе в нас, — пояснив чоловік.
— Хто вона, на вашу милість, така? — почала кричати.
— Заспокойся. Вона — дружина Антона, пам’ятаєш, розповідав я тобі — ми з ним служили разом. Він загинув, а його мати вигнала Фаїну з дому. Їй нікуди йти. Не працює — в декреті, пенсію ще не призначили. Квартира не Антона була, а його матері. Тож поки Фая поживе тут. Я повинен Антону. Кохана, це не обговорюється.
Чоловік промовляв, а на обличчі тієї жінки розквітала усмішка. Вона геть не виглядала на безутішну вдову, яку вигнали з дітьми з дому! Я їй не вірила.
— Мишенько, ти рагу хочеш? Я там приготувала… — кокетливо кліпає очима ця вдовиця.
Тут я зірвалася. Забрала свою ложку, пішла на кухню і вилила її рагу в унітаз. Не дам тут всім розпоряджатися. Не дивно, що її з дому вигнали, нахабну таку.
— Ти, хворенька, чим я дітей годуватиму? — загула та Фая.
— Не ори, ти в гостях. Не подивлюся на дітей, вилетиш звідси, як миленька. Зрозуміла?
Чоловік попросив не сваритися. Я відмовилася. Мені ця дама в квартирі не потрібна.
— Це і моя квартира теж, не забувай. Треба буде Фає і дітям реєстрацію зробити. Ти сама поїдеш, чи мені через суд свою частку виділити спершу?
Шок. А вона ще ширше усміхається. Сказала чоловікові, щоб сам сходив у садок за дитиною, зібралася і пішла. До подруги. Для мозкового штурму.
— Може, їй справді потрібна допомога? — припустила Оля, моя найкраща подруга, майже сестра.
— Ні. — покрутила я головою. — Ті, кому допомога потрібна, так себе не ведуть. Вони просять. А ця стоїть, як господиня. Щось тут не чисто. Та й на жінку, яка втратила чоловіка, вона не схожа. От уяви, ти овдовіла…
— Я ще і заміж не виходила! — перебила мене Олішна.
— А ти уяви, що в тебе є чоловік. І ти овдовіла, тебе вигнали з дітьми на вулицю. Але тебе прихистив армійський товариш твого чоловіка. І ти стоїш звабливо усміхаєшся йому, а його жінка для тебе — пусте місце. Та не буває так!
— Може, вона сама по собі така — всім усміхається.
— Ні. Тут є підвох, і я до нього докопаюсь. Тащи ноут! — скомандувала я.
Я переглянула всіх друзів чоловіка і знайшла трьох Антонів. Один — 46 років, він не міг служити з моїм чоловіком. Другий — син наших знайомих. А ось третій — той самий, і в сімейному положенні вказано ім’я Фаїна.
— Ось він. Був онлайн місяць тому, — ткнула я в екран.
— Родичів подивися, за прізвищем.
— Не вчи батька, зараз знайду.
Знайшли якусь Тетяну. Очевидно, сестру того Антона. І я їй написала. Висловила співчуття через Антона і запитала, за що вдова була вигнана.
Дівчина була не онлайн, і ми стали терпіти відповіді за парою чашок чаю.
Тетяна відповіла десь через годину. Вона подумала, що я — шахрайка. Написала, що її брат живий, і попросила її не турбувати. Я знову написала їй, все пояснивши. Відповіддю були смайли зі сміхом і порада вигнати аферистку-Файку до всіх чортів.
Якщо коротко, то Фая — марнотратка. І Антон, їдучи у тривале відрядження, залишив гроші на дружину і дітей своїй матері. А Фая намагалася випросити кошти собі на щось. Їй було відмовлено. Тоді вона здала свою квартиру на 5 місяців до повернення чоловіка, отримала всю суму одразу і стала думати, де ж перебути з дітьми. Так, щоб безкоштовно.
Тоді вона згадала розповіді Антона про мого чоловіка, за яким числився борг. І написала йому, навраши з три короби.
Ми з Олішною попросили у Тетяни номер телефону її брата на відрядження і відразу зібралися до мене додому, виселяти брехливу вдовицю.
Ви б бачили обличчя мого чоловіка, коли я дала йому телефон і він почув голос свого товариша. Живого і здорового.
За Файкою приїхала її свекруха. Ударивши підзатильник невістці, вона забрала і брехуху, і онуків. Поки її чоловік, батько Антона, разом із моїм чоловіком виносили речі.
На чоловіка я дуже образилася. Не порадившись, він привів у наш дім цю хитру бабенку. Загалом, я залишила чоловіка з дитиною, а сама поїхала з Олішною продовжувати банкет.
З Тетяною ми підтримали переписку, навіть домовилися зустрітися. Наприкінці вона написала, що її братові не пощастило з дружиною. І знаєте, я з нею згодна.
Чоловік поклявся, що більше такого не повториться. І ніхто не переступить поріг нашої квартири без мого відома.
На згадку від Фаїни мені залишилися джинси — вона встигла розпакувати якісь речі і забула ці штани в нас. Новесенькі, з бирочкою, якраз мого розміру. Я їх собі залишила, як компенсацію моральної шкоди.
For about a year, my son had been living with Kate, but we’d never met her parents – it struck me as odd, so I decided to investigate I’ve always tried to raise my son to respect women first and foremost – his grandmother, his mother, his wife, his daughter. In my opinion, that’s the greatest quality a man can have: respect for women. My husband and I gave our son a wonderful upbringing and education and made sure he had everything he needed to get through life with ease. We didn’t want to help him with anything else, but we still bought him a two-bedroom flat. He did work to support himself, but he couldn’t quite afford a place of his own. We didn’t give him the flat right away, in fact, we didn’t even tell him we’d bought it. And why? Because our son was living with his girlfriend – that’s why. For about a year, he’d been living with Kate, but we’d never met her parents and I always found that strange. Later, I discovered that Kate’s mum used to be a neighbour of one of my friends. She told me something that really unsettled me. It turned out, Kate’s mother threw her husband out when he started earning less, but the real madness started after… She began seeing a married – but wealthy – man. Kate’s grandmother, just like her daughter, also had a relationship with a married man. She would even force both her daughter and granddaughter to trek out to his country house to help on his farm. Because of this, my son already found himself tangled up in his future mother-in-law’s affairs. But what concerns me most is that Kate’s mother and grandmother are turning her against her father. It’s clear the girl cares for her dad, but these two women have put her relationship with him in jeopardy. And to top it all off, Kate has decided to drop out of university. She believes it’s a man’s job to look after the family. I agree to some extent, and I raised my son for that, but heaven forbid they face any real life problems. What sort of safety net will there be if something goes wrong? How would she support her husband if that happened? By the way, I’ve put the flat back in my own name, because I know I’ve raised a bit of a soft touch, as we say. Yes, property bought before marriage isn’t divided after a divorce, but Kate is such a clever woman, she could very well send my “gentleman” packing with nothing but his socks.
So, listen, for about a year now my sons been living with this girl, Emily, but wed never met her...
– Needless to Say, This Is All My Fault! – My Boyfriend’s Sister Sobs. – I Never Imagined Something Like This Could Happen! And Now I Have No Idea What to Do Next. I Don’t Even Know How to Handle This Without Losing Face. My Boyfriend’s Sister Got Married a Few Years Ago. After the Wedding, It Was Decided the Newlyweds Would Live with the Husband’s Mother. His Parents Have a Spacious Three-Bedroom Flat and Only One Son. – I’ll Keep One Room, and the Rest Is Yours! – Promised the Mother-in-Law. – We’re All Well-Mannered People, So I’m Sure We’ll Get Along Just Fine. – We Can Always Move Out! – The Husband Assured His Wife. – I Don’t See Anything Wrong in Trying to Live with My Mum. If It Doesn’t Work, We Can Always Get Our Own Place…. That’s Exactly What Happened. As It Turned Out, Living Together Was Quite the Challenge. Both Daughter-in-Law and Mother-in-Law Tried, but Things Got Worse Each Day. Resentments Built Up and Arguments Became More Frequent. – You Said If We Couldn’t Get Along, We’d Move Out! – Cried the Wife. – Well, Haven’t We Managed So Far? – His Mother Smiled Condescendingly. – These Are Little Things, and It’s Not Worth Packing Up and Leaving Over Them. Exactly a Year After the Wedding, His Wife Became Pregnant and Gave Birth to a Healthy Son. The Arrival of the Grandchild Coincided with the Mother-in-Law Quitting Her Old Job and Struggling to Find New Work, as Employers Hesitated to Hire Someone Approaching Retirement. The Daughter-in-Law and Mother-in-Law Had to Spend All Day Together, Neither Having Anywhere Else to Go, and Tensions at Home Only Grew. Her Husband Simply Shrugged and Listened to Their Complaints, as He Was the Sole Breadwinner. – We Can’t Just Leave Mum Right Now—She Has No Income. I Can’t Leave Her on Her Own, and I Can’t Afford to Support Her and Rent a Flat for Us. Once She Finds Something, We’ll Move Out! But the Young Woman’s Patience Wore Thin. She Packed Up Her Things, and Her Son’s, and Moved Back in with Her Own Mum. She Told Her Husband She’d Never Set Foot in His Mother’s House Again, and If He Cared About Family, He’d Have to Sort Something Out. She Was Sure Her Beloved Would Try Everything to Bring Them Back Together. But She’d Judged Wrong. It’s Been Over Three Months Since She Moved Out, and Her Husband Hasn’t Tried to Win Her Back. He Still Lives with His Mum, Talks to His Wife and Child on Video after Work, and Visits Them on Weekends at His Mother-in-Law’s House. He Gets the Care and Attention of Two Women at Once; the Parent Gets Sympathy for Her Son, Left with an Angry Wife, and Doesn’t Have to Deal with the Child at All. The Husband Has It Made! And the Mother-in-Law Hasn’t Really Lost Anything, Either! The Young Woman Is Far from Happy with This Situation. She Loves Her Husband Very Much, Though She Knows He’s Not Doing the Right Thing. – What Did You Expect When You Left? – He Asks. – You Can Always Come Back If You Want. It’s Unlikely the Wife Plans to Leave Her Own Mum or Rent a Flat. The Woman, Now on Maternity Leave, Just Can’t Afford It. Is This Really the End of the Family? Do You Think She Still Has Any Chance of Going Back to Her Mother-in-Law’s House Without Losing Her Dignity?
Needless to say, this is all my fault! my mates sister sobbed. I could never have imagined things would turn...
“Mum, he wants me to do this for him… He says all good wives can do it… Does that mean I’m not good? Please teach me… If everyone else can, surely I should be able to as well…” I’m Still Amazed My Niece Found a Husband—Perhaps Just Because of Her Mum When Alina was a child, my sister refused to send her to nursery school; as a teenager, she wasn’t allowed out, she spent all her time at home—she became a bit of a recluse. When Alina was at university in our town, her mother made sure she always came home before 6pm. At 20, her mum would phone at half seven, shouting if she wasn’t home yet. It was absurd, just nonsense. Alina met her future husband in her second year at university; they studied together in the library, he was two years older, shared his notes with her, helped her out—a friendship that blossomed into love and eventually into dating. That’s when my niece began defiantly breaking her mother’s rules. The niece eventually married and her mother finally allowed her to start a new life of her own. Now let me tell you a recent story. I was at my sister’s house when Alina called, her voice breaking between tears and giggles so much we could barely understand her: “Mum, he wants me to do this for him… He says all good wives can do it… Does that mean I’m not a good wife? Please teach me… If everyone else can, surely I should be able to as well…” At that moment, my sister’s expression changed instantly; she told her daughter to calm down and asked what exactly all good wives are supposed to be able to do. “Make soup, Mum,” she said, and we burst out laughing. “Don’t laugh at me! You never taught me how, I’ve looked up recipes online but they never taste right!” So, my sister and I quickly taught her, step by step, how to make soup, giggling at each other all the while. That evening, my niece called to thank us—her husband had complimented her, saying it was delicious. And, best of all, according to her, she’s now a proper wife!
Honestly, Im still a bit staggered that my niece actually found herself a bloke, especially considering the way her mum...
People Adopt Children from Orphanages, So I Chose to Bring My Grandmother Home from Her Care Facility—Despite All My Friends and Neighbours Disagreeing and Saying Times Are Tough, I Knew in My Heart It Was the Right Thing to Do
There was a time, not so long ago yet distant enough for it to feel like another life, when people...
Recently, I Visited My Daughter-in-Law and Was Shocked to Find a Cleaner Hired for the House—Despite Always Telling My Son His Wife’s Finances Didn’t Matter, I Can’t Understand How They Afford a Housekeeper with Their Modest Means, Especially Since My Husband and I Bought and Renovated Their Home and Still Help Them Out—When I Found Out My Daughter-in-Law Became a ‘Blogger’ During Maternity Leave and Hired Help, I Felt Betrayed and Insisted If Anyone Should Be Paid to Clean, It Should Be Me—But My Son Sees Nothing Wrong—Am I in the Wrong for Feeling Upset?
The other day, I popped round to visit my daughter-in-law, only to find a complete stranger bustling about doing the...
To Remain Human: A December Evening at Bristol Coach Station and the Unexpected Power of Simple Kindness
Remaining Human Mid-December in the city of Nottingham is raw and blustery. A sprinkling of slushy snow only half-shields the...
“Don’t You Dare Touch My Mother’s Things,” Said My Husband — “Those Clothes Belong to My Mum. Why Did You Pack Them Away?” My Husband’s Voice Was Strange, Almost Unfamiliar “We’re throwing them out. Why keep them, Steve? They take up half the wardrobe, and I need space for winter blankets and spare pillows—everything’s scattered everywhere,” I replied, continuing to briskly remove modest blouses, skirts, and light dresses that belonged to my late mother-in-law. Valentina always hung her clothes so neatly, and she managed to pass that habit on to her son. Unlike me—with my usual wardrobe chaos and desperate morning hunts for something presentable, ending up ironing crumpled tops that looked like they’d been chewed up and spat out by a cow. It had only been three weeks since Steve said a final goodbye to his mother. She needed treatment—mostly palliative—and peace and quiet. The cancer was merciless in its speed. So she came to stay with us, fading away within the month. Now, coming home after work, Steve saw her things strewn mid-corridor like worthless junk and just froze. Was this it? Is that all his mother deserved—tossed out and so quickly forgotten? “Why are you looking at me like I’m some enemy of the people?” I retorted, stepping aside. “Do not touch these things.” His words came through gritted teeth, his face darkening dangerously; he briefly lost sensation in his hands and feet as anger rushed to his head. “For goodness’ sake, they’re just old clothes!” I shot back, my patience thin. “What do you want, a museum? She isn’t here anymore, Steve. You have to accept that. Maybe if you’d cared for her this much when she was alive, maybe visited more, you’d have known how ill she really was!” Those words hit him, hard. “Leave, before I do something I regret,” Steve managed, his breathing ragged. I snorted. “Fine. Suit yourself.” Anyone who disagreed with me must be crazy—or so I’d decided. Steve didn’t even take off his shoes as he headed for the hallway cupboard, flinging open the very top doors and hauling down one of our old checkered bags from the move—there were about seven of them. He packed all of Valentina’s belongings inside—not just stuffing, but folding each one carefully. Her jacket and a bag of shoes went on top. Our three-year-old son whirled around his father, “helping” by throwing his toy tractor into the bag. Steve hunted out a key from a drawer and pocketed it. “Daddy, where are you going?” He managed a tight smile. “I’ll be back soon, mate. Go find Mummy.” “Wait!” I called. “Are you leaving? Where are you going? What about dinner?” “No need, I’ve lost my appetite for your attitude towards my mother.” “Oh come on, are you really upset over nothing? Where do you think you’re going this late?” Not looking back, Steve left with the bag. He drove around the ring road, letting the roar of tyres drown his thoughts—work, holidays, even his favourite Facebook jokes—everything faded away except the heavy ache of loss and the accusation that maybe he’d failed his mum when she needed him most. She’d never wanted to bother him, never wanted to be a burden, and he’d started calling less, visiting less, always busy, always something else to do. Halfway there, he stopped at a roadside café, grabbed a quick bite, and drove the remaining three hours in silence. He barely noticed the sunset, just the faint memory of his childhood home drawing nearer. He arrived late, fumbled at the garden gate with his phone torch, ignoring five missed calls from me. The scent of fading bird-cherry blossom hung thick in the dark. Inside, Valentina’s old slippers waited in the porch, her house shoes by the inner door—blue and worn, with little red bunnies, a present from Steve years ago. He stood, staring, and finally entered his mother’s world for one last time. Everything was just as she’d left it—neat, a little damp-smelling, the furniture faded. Her makeup and comb, a packet of pasta marked ‘basic price’, the newer settee and telly he’d bought her, and in her room the bed piled with pillows. Steve sank onto the edge. He remembered sharing the room with his late brother, the old table by the window, now replaced with Valentina’s cherished sewing machine; her wardrobe now holding her lifetime’s treasures. The house was silent. Steve pressed his face into his knees, shook, and sobbed—he’d never found the right words to thank her; he’d sat dumb as she squeezed his hand, thousands of things left unsaid. He wished he could thank her for his safe childhood, her sacrifices, the sense of home you could always come back to, where mistakes didn’t matter and love was unconditional. But nothing he could say now felt real—our modern world, he thought, was quick with sarcasm, but never had the words for gratitude or grief. He left everything just as it was and finally slept, waking at seven as always. The morning was cool and fresh, the birch trees glowing outside the old garden fence. Steve carried the bag of his mother’s things upstairs and put everything back in its place with gentle care. He called work: “Family emergency, I’ll be back tomorrow.” He even sent me a text—apologising for his temper. After picking early tulips, daffodils and lilies of the valley, he made three small bouquets—one for each of his loved ones at the cemetery. Stopping at the shop, the old shopkeeper fussed over him, offering cheese; Steve bought some, just as his mum once did. At the grave, Steve shared breakfast—with his father, his brother, and his mum—laying out chocolate and cheese in silent tribute. He spoke to them in his mind, remembered childhood mischief with his brother, early morning fishing trips with his dad, his mum’s echoing call for dinner that he’d once found so embarrassing. He stroked the fresh earth of his mum’s grave. “Mum, I’m sorry… It shouldn’t feel this empty without you. So much I wish I’d said. You were the best parents anyone could ask for. Thank you—for everything. We’re selfish, me and Olya; you were never like that. Thank you, Vasya, too, little brother.” It was time to go. On the way, Steve met old Serge, drunk as ever, declaring it World Turtle Day. Steve looked at him, weary. “Look after your mother, mate. She’s gold, and she won’t be around forever.” And so, with that, Steve walked on—leaving his friend in the dust, and carrying his mother’s memory home.
Dont you dare touch my mothers things, said her husband. These clothes belong to my mum. Why have you packed...
Marrying a Disabled Man: A Story Thank you so much for your support, your likes, thoughtful feedback on my stories, for subscribing, and my sincerest gratitude for all donations from me and my five beloved cats. Please, if you enjoyed the story, share it on social media – authors appreciate it more than you’d think!
Marrying Outside the Lines Thank you all for your support, kind comments, and for following my stories. A special heartfelt...